


The lands of folk

by charliexstarship



Series: The lands of folk [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, The Folk of the Air - Holly Black, The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fantasy, Folklore, M/M, Murder, Original Character(s), Paranormal Romance, Vampires, queer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliexstarship/pseuds/charliexstarship
Summary: Someone is killing the folk.Subjects from both seelie and unseelie courts are being viciously murdered and their bodies left on palace grounds. Who's behind this and why would they do such heinous crimes?Can Zoe Adara find out who's behind it before the kingdoms go to war?Paranormal romance fantasy with queer protagonists!
Series: The lands of folk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766308
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, I'm just writing for fun and wanted to wack it up somewhere.  
> All mistakes are my own, apologies if they bother you!  
> charliexstarship xx

I look down at the corpse in front of me, It was dumped on the steps of the astronomy tower where the gentry children attend their schooling. It takes my brain several seconds to realise what it is I’m looking at.

The fey decompose differently to mortals. It’s hard to see her through the mushrooms that have started to push their way through her skin since the second she died. No... She didn’t die. It was murder.  
I trace her visible features with my eyes as I slowly bend down closer to the body. Her skin is a periwinkle from what I can see, What once must have been beautiful pointed wings have been ripped into shreds that hang helplessly under her. Her body has been... Almost ripped in half. My breath is coming in ragged gasps and I can smell her. She smells like the forest floor after the rain season, Thick with decaying leaves and fungus. I hold my breath and grit my teeth to stop myself from being sick.  
I return my gaze to the body, Her torso has been ripped open somehow. Through the small forest of mushrooms I can see her organs spilling out of the slash that almost cut her clean in half.  
I spot a glimmer of silver just as the palace guards come marching over, shouting for the crowd to disperse. My hand darts out and grabs whatever it is instinctively, shoving it into my pocket.  
I stand just as a guard turns his attention to me. 

“Classes are cancelled, You have to leave the palace grounds immediately” He all but snarled at me. His voice was gruff like gravel and his appearance suited it well. His skin was a sallow grey, His nose and teeth reminded me of the pigs that live in the forest. I nodded quickly to show I wasn’t going to cause any trouble and with one last look at the dead faerie, I turned and made my way from the palace. 

My boots clunk heavily on the forest path as I make my way home. This wasn’t the first murder to happen in the land of the folk, We’d heard about the centaur found in the palace of the unseelie court of spiders, His body ripped open like a savage beast had attacked him. Whispers has spread that king Aethelwulf blamed us; the seelie court of doves and the newly risen seelie court of bones for plotting a hostile invasion. That makes no sense, our king, Achilles would be crazy to form an alliance with queen Aaliyah. Our courts have a peace treaty and a trading deal to live together as neighbours but… There’s no way either courts would want to fight the court of spiders.  
A shudder runs through my body at the thought of that. I brush my fingers over the tops of ferns, tall enough to reach my waist as I think about the violence that surrounds the court of spiders like a wicked cloud.

The walk too and from the castle to my home takes at least forty minuets each way. I don’t mind though. It rained last night and the entire forest smells earthy and pure, I look up at the canopy above, The sunlight hitting the leaves, making the light filter down green as it shines on the webs of moss that hang off every surface it can get too. Magic pulses through the land here, You can feel it breathing through the trees.  
I make my way home at a steady pace, climbing over rocks, walking on fallen trees that have been blanketed by the ravenous moss and collecting handfuls of wild herbs to make tea with. I stop at one of the smaller falls and cup some water into my hands, tipping it into my mouth. It’s mid-summer and gets unbelievably hot in the early evenings.

When I push the heavy door of my home shut I make my way into the kitchen, The cook is preparing dinner for my mother, The heavy thud of their cleaver on the workbench makes me swiftly drop off my gathered herbs and make my way out again, I learned the hard way not to get under any feet in the kitchen. When Kane first started working for my family I was six, I asked too often for candied fruit one day while he was preparing for a dinner party and he snapped, letting out the loudest roar in my face. His red eyes blazing and his long, crocodilian tail thrashing behind him put the fear of the gods in me.  
My mother found it funny.  
I grab a carafe of honeyed wine on my way out and head upstairs towards my wing of the house. I’m aware of how fortunate I am to live in a big house, When my parents moved in it was just an abandoned strong hold that belonged to a army general from centuries ago.

“Zoe, You’re home early.” I hear my mothers voice call to me from her work shop. I swing around and lean against the doorway, Peering into the room. My mother sits in her chair by the big crystal window, embroidering intricate designs onto a gown that looks too beautiful to be real. Her narrow, twig like fingers move confidently and almost too fast to watch, Her fingers have an extra joint that makes her hands look like coiled ferns when she makes a fist. My mothers skin glows in the light, Reminding me of a pink quartz in the early morning light.  
“We uh, found a body out side the astrology tower and the guards sent us home.” I respond, my voice breaking slightly, She stops her work and looks at me with sudden interest.  
“A corpse?” She murmurs, leaning forward and giving me her full, undivided attention.  
I kick at the ground with my scuffed boot uncomfortably, Remembering the smell of the body and the condition she was left in.  
“It… it was… Awful. Mother, the body- She was murdered, cut in half almost.” I choke out, the true horror of what I’d seen finally sinking in. My mother looks half disgusted and half delighted. She nods at me expectantly to go on and picks up her quill and a piece of parchment, Starting to write in her swift graceful hand.  
“I’ll have to warn the ladies of the court, of course. First the court of spiders and now us, how…interesting.” She says, a slight smile on her lips.  
The folk are a complex species, We delight in the horrors and suffering of others, But we fear them at the very same time. My mother especially enjoys talking of the suffering of others, Even though she has suffered herself..  
She asks for more details as she writes her letters.  
I’m always reminded of our differences when I talk with my mom. 

She stands taller than me, slimmer and nature defyingly beautiful. Her skin is a soft winter pink, Eyes the perfect shade of autumn rich orange. Her hair is the same mossy green as my own, showing gold strands in the light. She has hers braided into complicated crowns and patterns, whereas I have it braided tight to my scalp or in a bun, I prefer practical over her ornamental.  
Mother’s ears are taller and have a more graceful point. My father’s mortal genes shortened my ears and made my skin white like his, but I have a pink tinge to me that always gets me compliments when I visit the mortal world.

One of the very few similarities I have with my mother is our hair and eye colours. My eyes have a dash of green around the iris, though.

I continue to my quarters after telling the events of the evening in painful detail and being dismissed by my mom.

The maids have cleaned while I was out and have lit lamps and candles throughout my parlour, The smell of wisteria blows in through my balcony windows. I slump onto my chair and pour myself a glass of the honeyed wine. I’m half way through it before I remember the object I took from the body, I pull it out and examine it curiously. It’s a ring. Some kind of signet ring, There’s a crest engraved into the silver, Through the dirt I think it’s some kind of insect and a bird. I frown at it and get up, going into my bathing quarters and washing it in a jug of water. It’s a spider and a dove… It’s not a family crest I recognise. I drop the ring into my jewellery box and go back to my wine. The king is hosting a new moon revel tonight, I need to gather my nerves for a night of debauchery.

I’m well into my second glass of wine when the family hand maiden, Thistle, comes into my room, a tray of make up, combs and jewellery in her hands. Thistle has been in my mothers service longer than I’ve been alive. Sometimes it feels as though she raised me more than my mom has.  
She taught me how to use my magic for the first time and how to control it, How to behave in the gentry and has helped dress and bathe me my whole life.  
“Your mother asked me to assist you, Zoe-bird.” Thistle greets me in her creaky voice. She gave me that nickname when when I was a toddler , saying when I cry I sound like a baby starling.  
The folk love differently to mortals. But… sometimes I think she’s fond of me; in her own way.  
She hobbles off to draw a bath for me, infusing the water with rose petals and lavender. I undress as she goes into my closet to pick a suitable dress for this evenings revel.  
The steam envelopes me as I sink into the water, scrubbing my body clean from the heat of the day.  
One of the downsides to being half mortal is the sweating.  
I dry off and pull on a slip once I’m cleaned and sink into my dressing table chair.  
I think of my dad while Thistle brushes out my waist length hair- Too long for my tastes but mom and Thistle both agreed it looks better than the short shoulder length cut I got in the mortal world a few years back.  
My dad died when I was three. I don’t remember him much, but I do remember the way he loved my mom and I. I remember how sad and scary it was when he died. My mom only told me what happened when I first started lessons at the palace with the other gentry children.

My farther was stolen from the mortal world because of his sword smithing talents by the court of spiders. He escaped and appealed for refuge here. King Achilles granted him safety on the condition he work in his castle forge and tell him all he knew of the unseelie army and their defences. When the unseelie court found out of my fathers betrayal they spread rumours of a spy, Causing the seelie prince Bran to order my dads execution. 

They beheaded him outside his forge with a huge crowd to stand witness. 

My poor mother, terrified we’d be outcast and sent into exile appealed to all the people of importance in the court and promised years of beautiful garments and favours in exchange for a secured place in the kings good graces and with the gentry.

I guess finding that body brought my dad to the forefront of my mind. I glance at myself in the mirror and blink in surprise. While I was zoned out thinking about my dad, Thistle had started putting make up on me, my cheeks have a touch of rouge to them to bring out the soft pink of my skin. She’s painted my eyes in gold to bring out the green and as a finishing touch she tilts my face up with a sharp claw under my chin and paints my lips a deep burgundy.

I let Thistle braid my hair into a crown and weave beads of crystal throughout the elaborate twists and plaits, Arguing with her over hair when going to the a royal celebration wasn’t in my best interest.  
Tonight she’s chosen a gown in a deep sapphire blue with more crystal beading stitched into the patterns of constellations. The material is silk to my immense relief, Huge beautiful sleeves cut at the elbow cascade to my waist and move gracefully with me. The heat was getting stickier as the night drew on. Once we arrived to the palace under the mountain it’ll be cooler. But those of us who choose to dwell over ground deal with the thick, sweltering heat of summer.  
I use mortal deodorant and perfume before slipping the dress over my head. It pools down to my feet and fits the form of my body like it was poured onto me.  
Perks of having a master tailor as a mother.

I attach my scabbard to my waist and sheath my sword. My fingers caress the hilt maybe a little too lovingly. My dad made the sword, The hilt is adorned with silver autumn leaves that look as though they are frozen mid fall to the ground, it’s reach is two foot, I care for it well and keep it sharp. My master swordsman named it “spies bane” I’ve yet to think of a better replacement.  
I hide a few small knifes on my thighs and in my boots- You can never be too safe when going to a big gathering, Some of the folk are known for snatching and torturing others for fun, especially mortals or even half fey; like myself.

I catch Thistle glaring at my boots as she bids me goodnight. 

Mother and I ride in a carriage to the palace under the mountain. She’s wearing a cream gown with embroidered iris flowers flowing up her chest and down one of her sleeves, She looks unearthly beautiful as always, I look at our reflections in the window and wonder again, for the thousandth time, What I’d look like if my father was also one of the folk. Would I have cat eyes? Deer legs? Antlers?  
It’s hard sometimes not to dwell on the fact that I’m not the same as them, While I know I did inherit some of my mother’s beauty I also inherited some of my dads human traits. I’m not slender like them, I won’t live as long as they do and my magic will never be a match for them. I have rowan berries, ash and salt stitched into secret pockets in all of my clothing to protect me from powerful compulsions. I have more complex emotions than the full blooded folk, It’s as if the mortal emotions mixed with the fey make me feel everything so much more vividly. Sometimes I wonder if it’s going to drive me insane. 

My mother shakes me from my inner thoughts as she presses her hand over my own.  
“I want you to take care tonight,” She tells me seriously, her eyes shining like flames in the candle light. “Don’t cause any trouble and be sure to get yourself home by dawn if we separate early on.”  
This is my mom’s way of telling me to screw off so she can gossip with the courtiers without having to keep an eye on me.  
“I will, Mother.” I tell her, nodding earnestly and giving her my best behaved smile. She frowns at me and removes her hand. It disconcerts her that I can lie, so she never exactly believes me, even when I’m telling the truth. 

The folk can’t lie but can be cunning with their words, I see that as the very same as lying. 

“I don’t think I’ll be staying long, I promised Jay I’d dance with him for a little while, and Ragnar said he had a list of errands for me to do tomorrow.” I tell her, fanning myself with my hand, It was too hot already. I could feel myself starting to sweat. She loses interest at my mention of Ragnar. She doesn’t understand why I’d want to learn how to craft weapons and train to use them, She hoped that I’d want to follow in her footsteps and become a seamstress. “A proper job for a lady to do” I heard her say to Thistle once.

Ragnar was a close friend of my dads, Helped him become the successful swords smith he was. On my fourteenth birthday I walked to his forge and asked - Begged him to take me on as his apprentice. It actually didn’t take much for him to agree and put me to work, I’ve been running errands and taking lessons from him for five or six times a week for five years now. He taught me how to win a fight and defend myself well before he presented me with spies bane.  
“A sword is never to be considered a toy.” He told me in his deep, smooth voice as he presented it to me. He looked proud when he told me I’d progressed and learned faster than he’d expected me too. I told him it’s only because I had a more than sufficient teacher and his pride turned into smug satisfaction.  
He took on some fatherly responsibilities throughout my time working under him, I remember when one of the stable boys took a liking to me and started following me around, not accepting that I wasn’t reciprocating of his feelings. He started getting…Creepy lets say. One day he went too far and Ragnar stormed from the forge, waving around his sword and threatening to cleave the boy’s head from his shoulders if he ever so much as looked in my direction again.

The carriage arrives at the huge waterfall that conceals the main entrance to the palace under the mountain. I squeeze my eyes shut out of habit as the carriage, pulled by magic hurtles through the water and into the royal mews, rolling to a stop among the long line of other horse and magic drawn carriages.  
My mother repeats her “take care if we get separated” speech as she gracefully steps out onto the cobbled path. I leap ungracefully behind her and offer her my arm. She slides her arm through the crook of my elbow and allows me to escort her into the royal hall. It’s compulsory to greet the king before joining in festivities. A thrill shoots through my stomach, As much as I don’t enjoy revels, dancing with the folk is an incredible experience.

We sweep up the black marble stairs that lead into the main hall of the palace, My mother nods greetings to several of the folk while we wait in the long line of people waiting to greet the seelie king.  
Achilles sits upon his magnificent throne, which is carved out of fossil rock. If you dare get close enough you’ll see hundreds of vertebrate, teeth, plants and ammonites petrified into the rock.

The grand hall has been carved out of the cave systems within the mountain, Massive columns of black marble with delicate systems of gold veins that glint in the lamp light and rafters made from the biggest tree root systems from the vast forest above to support the colossal ceiling. A mammoth chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling, thousands of candles bathing the hall in a warm glow.  
Stalactites that have pushed their way through the knots of tree roots glitter in the light, they’ve always made me think of a clawed hand, waiting to snatch someone up. The floor is a polished grey granite that has patterns that looks like smoke wafting in the breeze, the floors have been blanketed in extravagant carpets and rugs made from animal furs. Lengthy tables, at least twenty feet long line the main part of the hall, They’re always fill with food and wines, like the hall is always full of the folk. Mounds of cushions are placed round the corners, for revellers who dance so furiously that they need to recoup and lay down for a moment.

I watch the king as we slowly shuffle forward in the line.  
His great horns that twist gracefully up into sharp points has been polished until they gleam, His thick shoulder length black hair has started to turn silver at the the roots and frames his handsome face. He looks like the strong battle warrior his reputation tells him to be.  
He wears a gold crown encrusted with precious stones the size of my thumb, As if that wasn’t already extravagant enough, a pair of wings rise from the back, glittering black diamonds catching the light of the thousands of candles and lamps throughout the hall.  
His goat like eyes scanning the hall while the people bow to him in greeting. His face is inviting, smiling at people as he welcomes them into his lands. I notice his velvet gloved hand is always on the hilt of his mighty sword, named justice bringer. The sword is always on his hip or over his lap.  
You can’t be to cautious in faerie.  
At last we climb the steps up to the dias and bow as low as we can, He places his spare hand of each of our heads.  
“Merry meet, My king.” Mother and I greet him softly, keeping our eyes to the floor respectfully.  
“You are welcome” he replies in his melodious, powerful voice, Smiling at us as we stand.  
There’s an ancient tale that the magic of the lands is connected with the king, Looking upon him, feeling his touch really makes me think it could be true, warm power emanates from him like like he’s breathing it.  
We bow our heads to him again as we step off the platform and into the throng of people,  
My mother kisses my brow as she pulls away, disappearing into the mass of folk already drunk on wine and the energy of the hall.  
I don’t rush to find my friends or Ragnar. Fate will bring us together when the time is right I tell myself.  
I help myself to glass of berry wine, it tastes too sweet; to decadent be real, One sip of this and a mortal would be intoxicated for days. I feel it warm my chest on it’s way down, Joining the carafe of honeyed wine I had for dinner.  
The banquet tables are filled with hundreds of glasses, carafes, even barrels of wine. Other tables hold faerie fruits, dish after dish of food that make my mouth water. I drink my wine as I push my way through the crowd.  
Goblins, sprites, centaurs and other types of folk jostle around me, enjoying the new moon celebrations. All around me the folk are dancing singing, tricking, gambling and I’m sure, somewhere, causing extreme pain to others.

A heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder and I whirl around, pulling a knife from my thigh - Only to find Ragnar grinning down at me, His handsome face cleaned of the smoke from his forge. He’s the tallest centaur I’ve ever seen, towering over almost everyone in the grand hall. His horse body is a deep honey brown with darker speckles all over the coat, His other half is a deep tan colour, his long golden sandy hair is braided down his back and his kind grey eyes sparkle at me in amusement.  
“What were you going to do with that toothpick?” He asks me in his deep voice, fighting to keep laughter out of it. I scowl up at him and shove it into my boot, It’s far to ungraceful to try and slip it back against my thigh with one hand and an audience. I give him a half hearted bow in greeting.  
“Master Ragnar,” I said, fighting to keep my annoyance out my voice. “I was just coming to find you.” I tell him, placing my empty glass on the edge of a near by table. He raises his eyebrows at me, his grin widening.  
“And here I thought you were drinking wine and spying on the gentry.” He’s wearing a white shirt with billowing sleeves and a vest embroidered with ivy leaves and he himself has a tankard of ale in one hand.  
“I’ve not long arrived, I’m sure you know that, since you’ve taken to stalking my every movement.” I retort, sharper than I mean too. He holds his hand up and bows his head- the physical gesture for “touché”.  
“I need you to pay a visit to the market,” He rumbles at me, continuing over my groan.“I have several deliveries I need you to make and deposits to collect.” He passes me a roll of parchment and I tuck that into my boot too. I hated going to the market and he knows that. It’s brimming of vile creatures, drunkards, slave traders and tricks. “Of course sir. I’ll see to it at first dusk.” I accept through gritted teeth. Maybe I could get my friend Jay to accompany me, Or even Thistle. We talk about the weeks itinerary, He doesn’t need me to work so he tells me to work on my stances and blocking techniques and promises a spar next Sunday. We bow as we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways.

It doesn’t take me long to find Jay and the other gentry children. They’ve claimed the darkest corner of the hall, furthest from any knights or seeing eyes.

Jay has a half empty glass in his hand, He throws his head back and laughs at something Daedalus is saying to him. Jay, Like most folk, is tall. His limbs are long and graceful, His cheekbones could cut out your heart and his smile could end wars. Beautiful horns curve from his brow, framing his face and ending in points at his jaw that have been painted in gold.  
Daedalus, on the other hand stands a little shorter than Jay. His black and white hair is tousled, making him look more like a magpie than usual. His black beetle eyes shine with delight over whatever gossip he’s acquired from some poor victim. His wicked grin makes his pointed chin look sharp. 

I make my presence known by smacking my hand onto Jay’s shoulder, startling him and snatching the glass from his hand, draining it in one swallow.  
“My friend,” I say, smirking at his surprised face. “I promised you a dance, I am here to sweep you off your feet.”  
I step back and bow in exaggeration, When I stand he curtsies to me with a chuckle.  
“I never thought I’d see the day, Our Zoe, Joining the dancing like she belongs.” He teases, his aquamarine eyes sparkling as he straightens his red velvet doublet and summons a servant to bring us more wine.  
Daedalus watches our exchange with a hint of annoyance. I must have interrupted him before he had finished gossiping.  
I make sure I give him my sweetest smile as Jay and I step away from him towards the others.

There are not many gentry children this generation. The folk don’t have children often, even though they can live for thousands of years. That’s when mortals are useful to them- For breeding with as well as using for slavery and cruel delights.

Salome greets us first, Her powdery moth wings protected under a gossamer cape a beautiful shade of lilac that shifts to green as she moves in the light. Trolls must be in attendance tonight for Sal to hide her wings, They’re big, ugly and cruel creatures, It’s a well known secret they’re only allowed on our lands because they’re useful in battles and for guarding things.  
“Zoe, What a pleasant surprise! We thought you were too scared to join us.” Sal says to me, lifting up onto her toes to press a kiss to my cheek. She glances at our friends around us to see if they found amusement in her slightly offending way of greeting me.  
Salome is a pixie, She’s shorter than me but what she lacks in height, she makes up for in insecurity.  
I smile at her and say nothing, accepting a new glass of wine and a bowl of grapes, I devour them quickly, realising that maybe eating from time to time might be a good idea. Especially when drinking faerie wine.  
Jay throws his arm around my neck and asks a few questions about the body we found today and makes a few comments about how awful it was… with a smile on his face.  
Everyone finds it interestingly amusing that the poor girl was killed in such a demented, unspeakably evil way and dumped on the steps to the astronomy tower. I just find it terrifying, Who could be doing this? And why would they? I’ll never understand the way the folk celebrate the horrors so casually with no regard for the suffering of others.

So naturally, to get through the awful conversation about mutilated bodies, I drink as much wine as I can to get through the night without stabbing someone.  
The night sort of… swirls together at this point.

Our group spends the next couple of hours drinking, nibbling on food and gossiping. My head feels like it’s spinning faster than time is moving. I loose sight of Jay by the time we join the dancing, I’m so intoxicated by this point I don’t even think before I jump into the dance, my body moving with the beat unconsciously. The hall around me starts to blur together, grinning faces of goblins, Beautiful pixies and mischievous fey fill my vision in a slow blur. Loud, maniacal laughter reaches over the music, followed by more laughing and the sounds of someone screaming. In pleasure or pain, my mind couldn’t work it out.

The next thing I know, my ex boyfriend, Atlas, sweeps me up in his strong arms and sweeps me back into the dancing. His golden eyes burn into mine as he pulls me close to him, I think he leans in to kiss me but Jay reappears and steals me from Atlas’s embrace, spinning us around and howling with laughter as he barrels into a group of people dancing in a much more orderly fashion, they scowl and titter at him as he scrambles to his feet.  
Then it feels like I blink and I’m dancing in the big group again, Atlas gripping my hand tightly as the circle of dancers spread out and join smaller circles.  
Then the screaming starts. A chorus of different screams, Some fearful, some joyous, some disgusted.  
A body has dropped from the rafters high up on the ceiling.  
Bodies turning up this late in the night isn’t the most unusual thing. The unusual thing is that it’s fallen in pieces. Like it’s being thrown at the revellers.  
The head lands at my feet; spattering me in blood, it’s been lopped off from the body with what looks like one powerful slash.  
Other parts of the body fall on the surrounding groups around us, hitting people and causing panic in the crowds. I’m stuck, frozen, staring down at the head in horror as some of the folk stamped towards the front doors to get out.  
But i’m frozen, staring down at the face in front of me. The face I’ve known for most of my life.

It’s Jay.

He’s been butchered while we were all dancing and having fun. I remember Atlas grabbing my arm as the screaming and the grinning folk stream past us.  
The guards are storming towards us, shouting commands at the celebrators to move out of the area.  
I can’t move, My body feels like it’s stuck in cement, All I can do is stare down at the head of my best friend.  
Atlas squeezes my arm and tried to pull me away but I can’t. I vaguely hear him telling the guards that we know who the body is.  
This can’t be real. I’m going to be sick.  
I drag my eyes up from Jay and can see the kings guard escorting Achilles through the crowd, His great horns towering over the mass of people.  
Then it all goes black. I faint. Like a coward.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just writing for fun, I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own.  
> Shoutout to my sister for helping me out of a block she's the real mvp

I wake to the scent of comforting herbs and the pressure of a wet cloth on my brow.  
I blink and look up at the healer who’s leaning over me, where I lay on a bed that feels like it’s made from carved rock, I breath in the scent of rosemary, lavender and tulsi, trying to remember what happened...

The healer who was softly wafting the smoking herbs over me while humming a gentle tune noticed I was awake and patted my shoulder softly, Her skin looked and felt like tree bark, her hair looked like willow branches, flowing down to her knees, It was as if a gentle breeze was stirring through the locks of leaves in the still room that was set deep under the mountain. A cluster of stalactites dripped with water lazily and the air felt stale and cool.  
Black eyes with deep, bark like wrinkles stared at me from a rough face that still somehow looked gentle and all knowing, making sure I was really awake and not about to pass out again.  
How long had I been in here?

“You are not the first to faint in the presence of the king.” She tells me in a creaky old voice, smirking at me before turning away and starting to clean her work station.  
Is she joking? The king?  
Suddenly, the events of the night flood back into my mind, knocking the breath out of me.

Jay.

My poor friend... My brother.  
He was the first true friend I made when I joined the gentry for classes, I remember how he just threw his arm around me and pulled me into his world. The last seven years of my life have been by his side; Exploring the mortal world and practising our magic, turning parchment into money and tricking mortals out of their pocket contents, Spending the long summer days lounging by the swimming ponds. Years of love and friendship… Stolen from me within minuets. 

What happened?   
Why did this happen?

I bolt upright and swing my legs over the examination table, which was carved out of a rock by the way.  
I needed answers, now.  
The wise woman glances at me and raises her stick like brows.  
“You are in shock, Child.” She said in a amused voice. “Lay back down for a moment until your wits are with you.”  
I shake my head stubbornly and stand, nausea rolls through my stomach, I feel the room spinning around me while I try to get my balance steady. Taking a few deep breaths I fight to force my body to right itself, I will not faint like a damn damsel in distress again.  
“Your care is appreciated.” I mutter as I give a half bow, I swallow thickly and take another steadying breath. 

The folk don’t say thank you, uttering those words is like dismissing any work or kindness a faerie has done and turns it into something that can be immediately forgotten or into a kind of never ending debt competition. 

But when you’re treated by a healer, A palace healer especially, you have to show gratitude or else you might risk a nasty curse befalling you  
.  
She dismisses me with a wave after looking at the stubborn expression on my face for a long moment.  
“The guards outside will take you to your dwelling.” the healer tells me as we part. I bow again before staggering for the door.

The guards escort me through the maze of cave tunnels back towards the great hall, The palace is carved into the whole mountain and fills the natural surrounding cave systems, Most parts were dwarven crafted centuries ago and have the most beautiful carvings of creatures and patterns on the walls and ceilings, huge fireplaces heat the even bigger rooms filled with stunning interiors and mosaic floors heaped with layers of rugs and giant beds. The tunnel we’re in has rough walls wet with the constant tiny streams of water that glimmer in the torchlight. It’s crawling with servants and guards rushing to and fro, looking alarmed and nervous.  
It guess it was one thing to dump bodies on the grounds, but to kill someone inside, with the king and his guard so close? How arrogantly confident did you have to be?

I spot the black master going the opposite way, deeper into the tunnel and step in his path, tears sting in my my eyes as I take in the blood on his hands and clothes. It could be Jay’s blood.  
“My friend was the one who was murdered, Please, Can you tell me how? Why would they do that to him?” I hate how high and panicked my voice sounds, the desperation feels like it’s pouring from me.  
The black master is what mortals would call a mortician. His duty is to examine bodies of fey who are believed to have died an unnatural or unlawful death and determine what the cause was. People say they work with necromancy and other dark magics for answers.  
His solemn, crow like face stares down at me with no sympathy, If anything, he looks mildly disgusted with my show of emotion.  
“The boy appears to have been dissected after his life was extinguished.” The black master spoke slowly and gravely. His choice of words sent a shiver of dread down my spine, I cringed but he took no notice and continued.  
“The signs lead me to believe his magic was taken, resulting in his death... Curious really, why someone would steal magic from another faerie.” He nods at me and continues on his way down the shadowy, now ominous and uninviting corridor. I stand frozen until the young and sympathetic guard takes my arm and leads me back to the royal mews.  
I mumble directions to my home while numbly climbing into a magic drawn carriage. My head is spinning.

Someone is stealing magic from the folk? I’ve never heard of such a immoral act. I’ve never heard of it because it’s simply not done, It’s… an act of evil.

Thistle is waiting by the door when I trudge inside, she puts a clawed hand on my shoulder and guides me to my room. I let her lead me to my dressing table chair and sit down.  
I examine her face in the mirror as she begins to undo the elaborate braids in my hair. Her skin is light tan and looks like wrinkled leather, Her long nose bends downward and her eyes are a light piercing blue, Her salt and pepper hair is tucked under her night cap and her goat feet clack on the tiled floor as she shifts around my chair.  
“You must feel sad about young master Jay.” Thistle finally says, stopping to press her hand to the crown of my head. “Your mother told me what happened as she retired for the day.”   
I grimace. Of course my mom went to bed instead of seeing if I were okay or waited up until I got home.   
The fey don’t feel as we do.  
“It was kind of you to wait for me, Thistle.” I respond, rubbing my eyes roughly, as if I could rub them hard enough and wake up from this nightmare. Thistle hands me a moist cloth and gestures for me to wipe my face before picking up a brush to smooth out my hair.  
“It’s my duty to make sure you’re seen too, Zoe-bird.” I knew she cared for me, more than my own birth mother evidently.  
I wipe the remaining make up from my face, frowning at my reflection, What the black master said had really, really disturbed me.  
“Thistle,” I begin, turning to look at her. “Have you heard of folk… stealing magic from other folk?” I ask, biting on the inside of my cheek while waiting for her response. She contemplates my question as she starts braiding my hair.  
“There are legends… Of evil necromancers stealing the life source of others, yes…” Thistle starts, sounding reluctant. “To become more powerful. But there hasn’t been a necromancer powerful enough for thousands of years, child.” she shakes her head and begins collecting the strands of crystal that had decorated my hair.   
“Young girls like you shouldn’t think of such disturbing stories.” She says disapprovingly and pats my shoulders firmly.  
“Get changed and go to bed child. You have suffered a long night.”  
I do as she says. After she leaves I lock the doors to my quarters and strip off my dress, crawling onto my bed in my slip, hanging my sword over my headboard, in it’s usual day time spot.  
I watch the sun rise and listen to the birds sing for hours before I finally fall into a fitful, haunted sleep.

I wake up late afternoon, feeling like I’ve been trampled by a horse. My head pounds and my eyes burn in the light. I’d had nightmares all day about mushrooms and falling body parts that had left me drenched in sweat. I roll out of bed and make my way over to the bathtub and start filling it. My dad figured out how to use the small waterfall behind our home as a plumbing system when he was restoring the stronghold. I think we’re the only dwelling in the land besides the royals that have running water.   
I clean up quickly and dry off, twisting last nights braid into a tight bun at the nape of my neck.  
It’s too hot for gowns or my velvet doublets, so I choose a light green tunic with my family crest stitched onto the breast in gold. A spinning wheel with two swords crossed before it, Not as imaginative as other families but… it’s ours. I grab the ring I found near the dead fey yesterday and Ragnar’s errand list. If I’m going to the market already, I might as well ask around and find out if anyone has seen or heard anything about the killings.

I ignore my mothers calls on my way out of the house, I note the tea tray being prepared in the kitchen and realise she has company. She most likely just wants to know the gory details so she can gossip with it to the other parasites in the gentry. I’m in no mood for it and after a quick cup of water and a roll of seaweed bread I leave through the servants door and flea from my own home for the day.

No mans market infests a medium sized wasteland somewhat halfway between the court of doves and the court of spiders. It’s populated with witches, healers, traders, assassins and mostly your usual drunkards packed into the crudely built huts that call themselves taverns.  
I rode my mortal bike most of the way there, I will never understand why the folk won’t accept bikes as a acceptable type of transport. It’s cheaper and easier than horses.

I hide my bike in a mass of ferns and head towards the market on foot, It’s better to pretend I’m full fey and hide any possible links to the mortal world when around unseelie and nomad folk.  
With another glance at my to do list I sigh heavily. I have to find four customers and get their deposits for their orders and tell another six that their order will be ready within the next lunar cycle.  
I hate doing the chasing around and I have to keep reminding myself that if I want to run my own forge I have to pay my dues.  
But before I do my work… I need intell, So naturally I make a beeline straight for the stall with the hob stirring a giant pot of stew.  
All hobs look the same, they’re short, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one push more than four feet tall, they have an excessive amount of facial hair and they all seem to love wearing raggy cloaks and tattered pointed hats.  
This particular hob is called Ammon, He’s as old as the trees and has the reputation for knowing all the happenings in the courts.  
“Good evening, Sir Ammon.” I say politely as I sit down, pushing a few coins across the table to buy a bowl of stew. “How are you fairing?” I ask out of politeness more than genuine interest.  
He studies me with small watery eyes as he ladles some soup into a bowl and hands it over the pot to me.  
“Well. The murders have bought many customers to my table.” He replies in a voice that reminds me of toads. I shovel spoonfuls of soup into my mouth to hide my expression. Of course that’s the way a slime ball would see the violent killings. A real blessing for business.  
“Have you heard anything about what might be doing this?” I ask, trying to sound casual between mouthfuls of what I hope is venison with vegetables. His eyes narrow and I shift uncomfortably, he goes back to stirring his pot with a shake of his head.  
“I do not wish to talk about such happenings. Aridam knows these things, Maybe he would tell them to you.”   
Ugh. My day just keeps getting better. Aridam must have intimidated everyone asked about the murders to direct the curious to himself. I wasn’t going to get anything from Ammon.  
I hastily finish my stew and stand, bowing my head and turning away. I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time. Making my way through the market stalls selling food, jewels, fabrics, mortal slaves drugged on so much faerie fruit that they’re completely docile until be-spelled into compliance by their new owners.  
It’s awful looking up at the gaunt mortal faces as I walk past, I wish I could help them somehow… But if you try and free a slave you don’t own, the traders cut off your hands or in some cases… Make you a slave yourself.

Aridam has built a trade hub out of large stones that have been blanketed in thick ivy, he’s famous for dealing anything you could want on the black market and has spies anywhere you could imagine. He sells information, But not always in exchange for money or goods.  
If I want to find out who’s killed my best friend and the other fey, I’d have to make a deal with him.  
Before entering his shop of horrors I shift spies bane so I can draw easier if I have too. I’m not vain enough to pretend I not scared. Aridam has a reputation for cruelty.  
The smell is the first thing you notice when you step inside, it’s heavy with strong spices but lingering underneath is the coppery scent of blood, My eyes adjust almost automatically to the change of light and I fight to keep my face blank as I look around at the dark objects filling the space.  
My heart is thudding against my ribs. I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t look weak in front of fey like this. If I can’t pull myself together I’ll be like a lamb at the slaughter. I roll my shoulders and step further into the unwelcoming room with stubborn determination.

The walls are covered with dozens of rows cluttered with jars full of strange and sinister coloured powders and herbs, bottles full of dark potions that make me want to turn and march right back out the door before I end up boiled down and added to them and what appears to be racks stuffed with curse pouches.  
A glass case full of wicked blades and wands with dark crystals embedded in the hilts that look like they’re pulsing with corrupted energy glint in the low lamp light.   
Something brushes the hair on the top of my head, causing me to cringe and scuttle further inside the dismal building, I look back and find mummified limbs and intestines from various creatures hanging from the rafters above the door. 

That’s one way to greet customers I guess. 

Aridam is over six feet tall with serpent yellow eyes. Vicious looking spikes cover his dark olive green face and hands.  
He’s the type of monster mortal children are warned about in their scary stories.  
Aridam literally has a forked tongue.  
“Miss Zoe.” He murmurs softly as he notices my entry to his dark shop, lit only by a few dusty lamps on the counter beside him and hung from the ceiling among the canopy of body parts, making his eyes luminous in the pitiful light.  
Panic closes my throat under his watchful gaze. How does he know my name? This is not good start, My palms starts sweating.  
I take a deep breath and force the panic down. I need to ask him questions to find out who killed Jay and the girl left at the astrology tower.  
“I was wondering if you could help me… Identify who the owner of this ring is.” I tell him carefully, Trying to keep my voice neutral as I pull the heavy signet ring from my pocket and hold it up for him to see.   
He has a mass amount of knowledge.. If anyone knows what family the crest represents, it has to be Aridam.  
He gestures for me to come forward and holds out a spiked hand for the ring.   
“I’d be glad to inspect it for you… in return for a secret you hold for another.” he says slyly with a smirk, tongue darting out as if he could taste my unease in the air.  
A secret I’m holding for another? I frown as I turn the ring over with my fingers, unsure if I could share a secret worth the risk of telling… I really have no choice, but it’s definitely not something I’m happy to be spreading around.   
I’d risk making Daedalus angry, I’m sure he was saving this particular secret for a special occasion.  
But I have to pay the vile serpent somehow.

For Jay.

“ I heard” I sigh reluctantly before continuing, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “That the chancellor of the exchequer is having an affair with one of the kings consorts.”   
Hoping the infidelity is to his satisfaction, I place the ring onto his counter; bypassing his creepy hand all together. I so don’t want to be in close range of his spines.  
He picks it up greedily and examines it intently in the light of his lamp.  
“Where did you get that titbit from, Pray tell?” Aridam asks, tracing the bird and spider on the ring with a sharp nail, looking down at me with a hungry gleam in his eyes.  
“His.. His son has been spying on him.” I choke out through gritted teeth, reluctant to divulge another secret. My skin crawls with the guilt over breaking Daedalus’s confidence. The answering grin from the snake across from me sends a terrified thrill down my spine. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, waiting for him to decide if my secrets are sufficient.  
“How intriguing, I accept this as payment.” He hands the ring back to me and and leans over his counter, talking in a dramatic whisper as if we were just old friends gossiping.  
“This ring belongs to a certain royal who’s fast becoming estranged from the crown… I will tell you their name… in return for your eyes?” his grin is terrifying, his forked tongue licks over his sharp teeth as he stands up straight again, looming over me.  
“I told you two secrets.” I blurt out, realising my stupid mistake, You have to be crystal clear when making deals with the folk.   
He owes me another answer. And he knows it.  
His eyes narrow and he glares at me, waving his hand in a gesture for me to continue and ask my question. I have to think of a question that’ll give me an answer that helps me but doesn’t reveal that I’m trying to find out who the killer is or that I suspect that the owner of the ring is the killer.  
“How would one…“ I muse, thinking about the first killing in the court of doves and where the body of the small girl was dumped... It was a considerable distance from any of the palace boundaries.  
“How would someone move a body around the dove’s palace grounds without being noticed?”   
Aridam manges to look unsurprised by my unexpected question but I notice his shoulders are tense as he crosses his arms and a muscle jumps in his jaw.  
“My my my… Miss Zoe is curious. Just like her father.” his voice has changed slightly, A hiss has slipped into his speech. “There is a small tunnel on the grounds over the palace under the mountain. Behind a narrow tower, at the end the maze of forgiving ... Are you sure you don’t want the name of the owner of your ring? I’ll sell it for just one of your eyes... I have secrets about your father I’d throw into the bargain to sweeten the deal.” Aridam looks vicious as he gestures towards the walls covered with the wicked looking blades and shelves full of jars filled with gods knows what.. Gods knows who.  
“No. No.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, I’m so scared my body goes numb. He wants to cut out my eye for a name of the possible killer and supposed secrets about my dad? Fuck, The visual of him leaning over me and cutting me to pieces makes me break out in a full sweat, I have to get out of here, now.  
“Your knowledge as always is incomparable, That’s all I need.” I try to sound calm but I know I sound shrill and terrified. I bow at the waist before turning and without an ounce of shame, rushing from the serpents den.

I walk to the outskirts of the market as fast as I can, dropping on to a tree stump heavily to catch my breath and calm down.   
My brain is whirling.  
What was a royal doing around a murder victim?  
What court did they belong to?  
Could it be… a royal committing these disturbing killings?   
To accuse someone of high status with nothing but a ring and a hunch as evidence could be classed as treason, I’d be executed publicly just like my dad.

I take a few minuets to pull myself back together. I still have to do my errands for Ragnar, then think about what to do with the information I’d just gained. It’s too much to process in the open and I can’t linger in this dismal place longer than I absolutely have to.

I spend the next hour tracking customers down, delivering messages and collecting payments.   
I buy some fruit from a stall run by a elderly woman with a birds nest in her hair and find a small dagger disguised as a hair pin with the handle in the shape of a gold of bird taking flight, a goblin who was missing most of his teeth sold it to me while trying to pedal badly made short swords to me for a ridiculous price.  
A fight spilled from one of the taverns, filling the lane with brawling drunken fey, forcing me to walk closer than I’d ever want to the slave traders. The sounds of the rattling and hollow breathing from the poor humans felt like a punch to my stomach. I felt so wrong leaving them there… To a short life of misery and labour.  
I glance around and spot the trader, the despicable man was talking to a sinister looking wolf man who looked too interested at the stock.  
A young girl stares down at me, a silent plea for help in her eyes. She stares down at me desperately and I wrack my brain for anything I can do to help her. I glance at the trader again before bending to tie my shoelace up, I carefully drop a small pouch of salt by her bare and dirty foot as I get up and mime eating with a meaningful look.   
I really hope she understands and manages to escape. I quickly move onto the next stall and don’t look back.

On my way out of the market I notice a is woman watching me leave from at least twenty feet away, her shoulder length crow black hair stirs in the slight breeze, she’s wearing mortal clothes; a black tank top and black tight fitting jeans with belts with what looks like hatchets criss crossing over her hips... I rest my hand on my sword warily, am I about to be attacked or is she just curious?  
Why is she staring at me? Did she see me give the salt to the human girl?  
I have half a mind to march over and ask her what her problem was but just as I halt and turn to face her, a group of five, maybe six people join her and fear shoots ice through my veins, freezing me mid step, Some of them have bloody mouths and clothes. That could only mean one thing.  
Vampires. 

Vampires who are feeding nearby, and I’m by myself, staring at them like an idiot.

After a maybe not so graceful sprint to my bike, and twenty minuets of terrified peddling, I’m safe in the boarders of my courts lands. I intended to just head straight home but I decide I need to try and organise the mess of questions in my head. I have questions that I need answering. Maybe by someone less murderous than Aridam.


End file.
